


Be Patient

by blueberryscowler



Category: Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica - James A. Owen
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 05:41:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13991667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueberryscowler/pseuds/blueberryscowler
Summary: A very belated response to an assignment, the next one will follow soon.Happy Caretaker Day, my friends!





	1. Downstairs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [A_Strange_Vessel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Strange_Vessel/gifts).



Rain can be a friend, if you introduce yourself to him politely and don't complain about him, unless you are soaked to the skin. In that case just go ahead and complain as much as you want, as rain renews and forgives. Flannery was about to befriend the rain, as he followed Laura Glue through a secluded street in a small village near Paralon. It would make his presence, he thought, much more comfortable. The street Laura Glue led him through was not only secluded, but very, very narrow. It wouldn't fit a principle, let alone a... what did the people from the Summer Country call it again? An auto... auto mobile, right? Yes, it wouldn't fit an auto mobile. In fact, it hardly fit Laura Glue's two, large wings. The street was also dark, not only because of the clouded sky, but because of the absence of street lights and windows in the house's walls.

“Here, we are,” said Laura Glue as they stopped in front of tiny wooden door. She opened it, and Flannery could see that instead of opening into a room, or a corridor, the opening is immediately followed by a long, narrow staircase, with limed woodchip walls on each side, illuminated by an old electric lamp on the low ceiling.

“Gents first,” said Laura Glue and Flannery walked down the first steps. He was used to hidden ways of course (more than anyone he knew, to be honest) he had to admit that this place had a very eerie atmosphere about it.

“You have to admit,” said Laura Glue, “that this place has a very eerie atmosphere about it. That is, of course, entirely on purpose and not at all an accident, or because we couldn't afford anything better, even if Edmund will tell you the opposite. A place needs to have a proper atmosphere, fit for the activities you are about to pursue in it. Don't you agree?”

“Ah-huh,” said Flannery, as he tried not to stumble about an empty bottle. “Of course. Very atmospheric and useful. Is this mould?”

“No, of course not. That's just paint... I guess.”

Laura Glue squeezed past him and opened another, even smaller door, that finally led into a large, sparsely lit room. It looked surprisingly comfortable and comparably clean, compared to the street and the staircase. It had a large, round table in the centre, with several wooden chairs stacked around it, and a few mismatched armchairs and a large sofa, with a large, fuzzy blanket spread on it, completed by a small coffee table in the back of the room. It was only lit by a few wall lights. There was no flame in the large fireplace, but it looked and smelled as though it was frequently used, which comforted Flannery a slight bit. It made the room less deserted. The shelves were all filled with books – most of them fantasy novels – and all sorts of brass figurines. The floor was covered with sheets of paper and parchment, all of them filled with sketches, scribbles, and notes. The walls were not greyish white or mouldy, but covered in a nice, green wallpaper that looked like a lot like the one Flannery had seen in Fred's bedroom, when he visited the Tummeler family's sett. Apparently, the wallpaper also covered a door, which Flannery had not noticed until a young man with a large tray in his hands opened and stepped through it.

“How nice to see you, Flannery,” said the boy. “Could you lend me a hand, darling?”

“Go on, and lend him a hand, Flannery,” said Laura Glue. Flannery coughed and turned to her.

“Er, Laura Glue, I'm not sure, but I think he meant you.”

Laura Glue frowned. “Oh,” she said. “Okay. Edmund, my name is Laura Glue. Not _Darling_. But sure, I can help you. What's the matter?”

“Flannery's name isn't _Darling_ either,” said Edmund. “Darling is a nickname used for a very dear person. But wasn't your... ah, well, I'd better not dig into that matter. I need some help with the sandwiches. I used followed Rose's instructions, but they simply taste weird. Could you take a look at them?”

Laura Glue shrugged and walked through wallpapered door. Flannery tried to take a look, but she shut it behind her. “Is there a kitchen?”

“A what?” asked Edmund. “Ah, yes. Sort of, at least. We have an oven. And a fridge. And a table. But I suppose a proper cook, or a housewife, or any sort of sane person would have a nervous breakdown trying to prepare a meal in there.”

Flannery carefully sat down on one of the wooden chairs, unsure if it might break down or simply vanish below him. To his surprise, it turned out to be quite solid. “Edmund?”

“Yeah?”

“Where in the worlds are we?”

“We are in... well, we'll better wait for the others to explain. Would you like some ginger beer?”

Now, that was a question Flannery liked to be asked. “Yes, please,” he said, and Edmund grabbed two bottles he apparently kept below the coffee table, and held one out to Flannery. The ginger beer was fairly good, despite not having a label on the ancient looking bottle. It tasted a lot like the kind they served at the Flying Dragon Inn.

The wooden door creaked again and a small figure in a trench coat, holding a wicker basket in a small, fuzzy paw, came in.

“Good evening, Fred,” said Edmund. “Great, we've all come together. That is, as soon Laura Glue returns from the kitchen and Rose wakes up.”

“I am awake,” said a voice that seemed to come from behind them, immediately followed by long cough. Flannery turned around and saw that Rose had been lying on the sofa the entire time, and now rose up from it. “I just took a little nap. Are the sandwiches ready? We've got a lot to tell you, Flannery.”

 


	2. The Y.F.A.

“You see,” said Fred, “now that most of the big problems are solved, and the older Caretakers are usually minding their own business and their usual work, we decided that it was time for us to go on our own adventures, when we have some spare time.”

“We thought it was a good idea to form our own little subgroup of Caretakers, the Young Friends of the Archipelago, Y.F.A. for short,” said Laura Glue. “Unofficially, of course.”

“And never meddling with the important stuff,” said Rose. “Unless we have to.”

“But in that case, we will tell the actual Caretakers,” said Edmund.

“That, of course, means, you lot are gonna tell me,” said Fred. “Understood?”

Flannery nodded and took another sip from his ginger beer. The small group sat on their wooden chairs, all gathered around the round table, which was stacked with sandwiches, bottles of ginger beer and lemonade, a few maps, and a very old edition of a children's book, Flannery had never heard of. He did hardly understood what was going on and what in the world he had to do with it, but he was not eager to tell the others.

“You might wonder, why we invited you,” said Edmund.

“Oh, yes, I do,” said Flannery, who wasn't too sure if the word “invited” was an apporiate term – Laura Glue basically demanded him to follow her into this gloomy place.

“The thing is-” began Rose, “-we want you to join us,” finished Laura Glue. “What d'ya think?”

“Join you?” asked Flannery.

“Join us,” said Fred.

Flannery considered this for a moment. Then he said: “Sure, why not,” and that was that.

“So, what exactly are we going to do now?” he asked, and the others looked at him and then each other. They have not yet considered this.

“I have no idea, to be honest,” said Laura Glue. “Do you have one, perchance?”

Flannery frowned. “How could I? I mean... what are you usually doing? I have never participated in such a meeting.”

“Well,” said Rose, “this is actually or second meeting. The first one was last week and we spent most of it finding, renting, and furnishing this little... _flat_. As a sort of headquarters, you see.”

“As a sort of private space,” said Edmund. “It's a bit shabby, but we'll handle that in time. As of now, we have never really gone about anymore adventures or things like that. It's all... brand new.”

Sighing, Flannery leaned back in his chair and staired at the dirty ceiling. He liked each of his companions, but always felt like a fifth wheel when they were all gathered up in a group. After all, they all have experienced adventures he has never been a part of. After a while, mostly because he had no better idea, and wanted to break the silence: “Well, it's very rainy outsides. We should better do something we can do indoors.”

“Nonsense!” said Laura Glue. “We're not made from sugar, and I am longing for a proper adventure. Don't you agree, Edmund?”

“Actually,” said Edmund, “I think Flannery's right. It's dark, wet, and we don't really have an adventure yet. Not to mention, Rose has caught a cold-”

“-no, I didn't!” said Rose, and coughed again.

“Rose has caught a cold,” Edmund repeated, “and I don't want to get my parchment wet, if there's no actual need for it.”

Laura Glue pouted and crossed her arms, but said no more, as Fred nodded at Edmund. “But what are we going to do instead? I don't want to sit and drink ginger beer all evening.”

“We could do some researching,” suggested Rose. “About whatever seems _adventorous_ enough. Any suggestions?”

Flannery tried one of the sandwiches (it was weird, but still okay) and wondered, if anyone would suggest a topic he didn't know much less than the others.

“Samaranth,” said Fred, in a very low and timid voice. “I know, it's probably not right, but we don't want to have any power about him, after all, and... and I would just _love_ to know.”

“Know what?” asked Flannery.

“Me, too,” said Rose. “I always wondered about that.”

Laura Glue and Edmund slowly nodded, and Flannery asked again: “What do you want to know?”

Rose looked at him directly, for the first time this evening, and quickly coughed again, this time much worse. “We want to know his True name, as an Angel. He told Charles, and bound him not to tell anybody. But the question has been bothering us for months. I know I shouldn't know, but, oh, I want to know.”

“I suppose, we cannot find that out,” Flannery said carefully. “But we can make assumptions, can't we? We could try.”

 


	3. The Bringer of Light

Fred sat on the couch beside Rose, browsing through an ancient looking book, while Rose was reading the children's book Flannery had first seen on the round table. Laura Glue sat on the floor, leaning against Edmund's legs, her wings carefully wrapped up in a soft blanket and stored under the coffee table. Flannery was studying a book on basic Angelology. Edmund held a Trump card in his hands and carefully stared beside it, making sure only to look at it from the corner of his eyes. When Flannery asked what would happen if he looked at it directly, he gave no answer.

“What do you know about Samaranth, or his name?” asked Flannery, in order to get things truly started. Rose scowled as she tried to remember the details of her incredible experiences in the City of Jade.

“Charles was very astonished to find out, what angel he was,” she said. “And he, I mean Samaranth, not Charles, said he was known as the Bringer of Light to the younger races, even though that was not his real name, either.”

Fred sighed as he heard this. “Many important people have been called that in the Bible, from the King of Babylon to the Mercy Himself.”

“Of course, he could be neither of them,” said Edmund, and put his Trump card in a small map.

“We could do a bold move,” said Laura Glue, “and say he's Lucifer.”

Flannery shivered as he heard that, and even more as Fred answered: “Yes, that is not too unlikely. Of course, Samaranth was not Fallen, or bent. But things of that kind are very complicated, and not ours to judge.”

“So you think it's him?” asked Rose. “That would explain Uncle Charles's reaction.”

“I think it's possible. But something's wrong about it. I don't know what, it just seems too...” His voice trailed off, and he turned over another page in his book.

At that, Flannery had an idea. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure thin'” said Laura Glue.

“What language did you and the others speak in... in the City of Jade?”

That question left the others dumbfounded for a while. They all looked up from their reading and stared at Flannery, with surprisingly unintelligent expressions on their faces.

“I... I...” began Edmund. “I don't have the slightest idea,” finished Laura Glue. “Fred, what language did we speak there?”

Fred shrugged. “That's another thing – I have no idea. I didn't even think about it, I simply understood everyone there.”

“I suppose you and Rose speak all sorts of fancy languages,” said Flannery, “but Laura Glue and Edmund? Do you speak anything other than English?”

“I know some basic Latin,” said Edmund. “But we surely didn't speak Latin there. I thought we understood it through some sort of magic. I think it sounded like English in my head. Of course, it couldn't have been English. It must have been a truly Ancient language.”

“Maybe you didn't speak any language at all,” said Flannery. “Maybe you all spoke and understand in a way that had the same words for all meanings. Something universal.”

“But in that case,” said Fred, “imagine... imagine we had just understood what he said as Latin, if our conversation had been held in or translated into Latin... Then Samaranth would have immediately given away that he was Lucifer. And he refused to openly say his true name. He first referred to himself as Lucifer, and then told Charles his True name in secret.”

“So you think he's not Lucifer?” asked Laura Glue.

“I don't know,” said Fred. “Lucifer is one of his later names, and he may also be the _that_ one, but that would still not be his True name. It would be as untrue as Samaranth.”

Rose sighed, coughed, and turned another page in her book. “I can't find anything in there, either,” she said. “And I always find answers in children's books.”

Chuckling, Laura Glue got up from the floor and stretched her arms out. “Oh, Rose. You need some tea. I think we all do. Will you lend me a hand, Darling?” she asked Edmund, who immediately got up and followed the young valkyrie into the kitchen.

“So...” began Flannery, who liked few things less than awkward silences, “we'll try again, am I right?”

“Yes, you are right,” said Rose and smiled. “We'll try again.”

 


	4. They Tried Again

“Where's Archimedes?” asked Edmund, as they all drank their tea.

“He refused to leave Tamerlane House in this weather,” said Rose. “He doesn't want to get rusty – and he also thinks that a grown up wouldn't belong here.”

“I am a grown-up!” said Fred, and Laura Glue laughed out loud, almost spilling her tea.

“You certainly be no longbeard,” she said and Fred scowled at her. “My whiskers are fairly long,” he said, but he knew that Laura Glue meant no offense – in fact, saying he was not a longbeard, was very much a compliment.

“Your whiskers are beautiful,” said Rose. “But she should concentrate on our actual matter of interest.”

“What do you think could Bringer of Light also mean?” asked Edmund. “Who could this description fit?”

“What about Barachiel?” asked Rose. “The Angel of Lightning?”

Flannery turned over to the section “B” of his book on Angelology. “The one with the roses, Rose?”

“The Angel of Converts? He cared a lot for...,” said Laura Glue, who glimpsed at Flannery's book. “But he's an Archangel. I thought Samaranth was... a... uuuh, a Che... Cherub.”

“I thought those were those naked babies with wings?” said Flannery.

“No,” said Fred, “those are called putti. A common misconception.”

Rose coughed again, and pulled her blanket further up. “An Archangel can be a Cherub. That aside, the Angels in the City of Jade were much different from the way I thought they would be. Most of them didn't look the way they were portrayed in the Bible, or Art History-”

“-or pop culture,” interrupted Fred.

“-and being a Cherubim, or a Seraphim, or even a Nephilim was a matter of Naming, and of Choice. I wonder if going by the classes of Angels we now would even help us. Perhaps his true name is not that of a known Cherubim.”

“And perhaps it is,” said Fred. “But that aside, I noticed that many Angels had names I have never heard of before. And some had names that I thought meant one and the same Angel, several of them, to my knowledge, Fallen or bent. And then some had names I knew, but would have never thought to be the names of Angels, rather than pagan gods and figures I have heard of in entirely different stories.”

“It's a complicated matter,” said Edmund.

“Very complicated,” said Flannery, who wished he could have been there with them, and seen the Angels, and the Dragons, and the magnificent First City. “Perhaps we were not that far off in the beginning? He can't be the... the Mercy, as you call Him, Fred, but he could be anyone from the King of Babylon to a random Angel nobody has heard of.”

Laura Glue scowled, just like a scowler, in order to think of something. “But Charles clearly said, ‘you are that Angel?’ and he even stammered. So he must be a famous Angel.”

“Or maybe famous to someone as scowlerly as Scowler Charles, but still a very obscure Angel to people like us,” said Fred.

“I say he's well-known. Metatron, maybe?” suggested Laura Glue. “That would be an important Angel, and Samaranth always kept writing things down.”

“Wasn't he there, somewhere? I can't remember properly,” said Rose. “I wonder... uh, no... I just can't think of any Angel I know that resembles Samaranth. It's too... too complicated for me.” She went silent for a few moments. “Who was the Archangel of Hope? Was it Phanuel?”

Flannery checked his book, then he nodded. “Yes, why?”

“Samaranth always meant Hope for me,” she said.

“Perhaps he is that Angel... for you,” said Flannery. “Or is that a very stupid thought?”

Fred sighed, then scowled, and took a sip from his tea. “Not stupid, Flannery. Unlikely, yes. And an unconventional way of thinking. But by no means stupid.”

Flannery didn't know how to respond, so he kept browsing through his book. “There is an Angel who keeps secrets – his name is Raziel. Apparently, Noah, or Ordo Maas, as Fred calls him, built the Ark based on knowledge from a secret book of Raziel's.”

Then, after a pause, he said. “The Deluge happened when you were there, didn't it?”

“Yes,” said Edmund in a very low voice. “But Samaranth said the Angels had made no preparations of the animals. Of course, that doesn't mean that Noah has not read his book. Oh, it's complicated. It's very complicated.”

Flannery kept and kept browsing in his book. He had never known the names of Angels, safe for Gabriel, of course, and Raphael, and Wormwood. “There's an Angel called Reuel,” he said. “Now that's a funny name. What? Why are you laughing like that? I know I said it's funny, but I think you're overdoing it a little.”

 


	5. What They Found Out

They went from ginger beer and sandwiches to tea, and from tea to scones with jam. It would have made more sense to eat them with their tea, but it wasn't until they had finished their tea, that Fred suggested they should eat scones with jam. Blueberry jam, in case you were worried that they might have eaten anything less powerful and good. Rose began to feel better, and eager to finish their unusual research. “I am sure it is a name we have heard by now. Or at least, a name that we could have heard if we had investigated the matter of Angels and their names any further. What I mean is... it has to be a name known to mankind.”

“And badgerkind,” said Fred.

“And womankind,” said Laura Glue.

“All right, yes...” said Rose. “Okay, Flannery, have you found any more funny names, like Reuel or Anane or any other name you found funny?”

“I have found a name I find only funny, because it seems so... so normal. It's Michael.”

“Who defeated the bent one in the War in Heaven,” said Fred. “Scowler Charles is very... oh he stammered, he was so...”

“Yes, it could be him. But he could also be, well, you know, the other one,” said Laura Glue, while using her sleeve to wipe some jam from her chin, ignoring the handkerchief Edmund offered her. “We can't know for sure.”

“I wouldn't be surprised if he were both and neither and all of them” said Flannery and laid on his back. “This is much more complicated than I thought it could be. Why can't we all simply have our names, and, well, maybe another name we prefer to tell others, and that's it?”

“Because Angels are very complex beings,” said a voice from the door. “And us Sons of Adam, Daughters of Eve, and Children of the Earth, can only grasp a very tiny glimpse of them, even if we visit their own City and see them right in front of us.” With a lower voice, he said: “Especially then.”

“Uncle Charles,” exclaimed Rose. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question,” he said. “I went into your room, and found a bunch of pillows beneath your blanket. Didn't Hawthorne tell you that you mustn't leave Tamerlane House until you got rid of your cold?”

Rose scowled at him, and refused to answer. Instead, she ate another scone.

“How did you find this place?” asked Laura Glue. “Longbeards are not allowed in here.”

Charles sighed, and sat down beside Flannery, on the floor, his long legs awkwardly placed below the coffee table, careful not to hurt Laura Glue's wings. “Archimedes told me you were here. Don't be mad at him – he was very reluctant, but he cares more for Rose's health than about not being a tell-tale.”

“That bird has to get his priorities straight,” said Laura Glue and pouted. “Did you spy on us?”

“No, but I know what you are up to. Well, it seems that Rose feels better by now, so I guess you can stay a little. And I will be your guest. Just ignore me,” he said as the children (and Fred, who was a fully grown badger, after all!) stared at him in shock. “I won't bother you – but don't ask me questions. I am bound not to answer.”

You might know, that it is very awkward to continue a conversation once an outsider has entered the room, especially if said outsider is a longbeard, and not really an outsider at all, but the only true insider in this particular matter.

“Well,” Flannery began adequately awkwardly, “there are plenty of important Angels here, some... bent... and some not. And some are Cherubim, some associated with light, and here is... oh. Look... look at this,” he said and held the book so everyone – safe for Charles – could read it. The section Flannery had opened began with “S” and read as following:

Sabrael – Archangel  
Sachiel – Archangel; Cherub; “the Covering of God”  
Sahaquiel – Archangel; “Angel of the Sky”  
Samael – Archangel; “Venom of God,” “Blindness of God”  
Sa ran h – Cherub; “Mind your own business, little ones”

The children (and Fred) stared at each other, then at the book, and then again. Then, they leaned back in their chairs, continued to eat their scones, and said nothing

for a while.“Have you found out what you wanted to know?” asked Charles. They nodded, first Fred, then Rose, then Edmund, the Laura Glue, and finally Flannery. “Yeah, we think so.”

“Well, then I suppose we can go. The rain must have stopped by now.”

They all stood up from their chairs and put their books where they belonged. Before putting it on the shelf, Flannery took another look at the page, and noticed a small change: Instead of “Mind your own business, little ones,” it now said, “be patient.”

 


End file.
